


We Were Once Kings

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Feels will be crushed as this goes on, Homestuck AU, Multi, NOT Vantascest, Signless/some other trolls that will be shown, father to son relationship more, much feel crushing, violence to come later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world of Alternia is an empire in its twilight, the society is unraveling as wounds fester and lives come apart. In all the chaos, this is the story of twelve families, all connected by the ties of their past, brought together in the present, and hurtling towards an uncertain future. Can the past be put aside in the face of destruction, or are all fated to be brought to an end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Once Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first solo piece and going to see where it goes. It is really only a rough idea right now but I have a general idea of where it is going! There will be twelve chapters in this part so things might change in the tags and what not as I figure out what is here and what is not. I hope though that you all stick around for the ride :) It is gonna be one heck of feel coaster!

We Were Once Kings 

 

Chapter One: The Hermit   
The landscape of the landfill was a treacherous network of crumpling ravines between sagging mountains of garbage that seemed to tower higher than the skyscrappers of the capitol city. A place made of forgotten memories and unwanted knickknacks. A treasure trove though for those that sought to dig up something forgotten or find something old to make their own and creating something a new. 

Rebirth in the landfill though was terribly rare.

Crouched on top one of the piles of trash, shifting through a more fresh batch of filth that reeked of faygo and old sweat was a large troll wearing nothing but a tattered cloak, gloves up to the elbows and a scarf pulled up over his nose to blot out the scent as best he could, a bit of lilac tucked into the folds of the cloth. His bright, cherry red eyes were narrowed in concentration as he carefully extracted fragments of what was once a hefty club. Whatever the highblood had hit, to say the least it had been a harder head than the club. I was broken into many large fragments, useless really for those of little imagination.

The mutant blood carefully slid the shards into the knapsack at his side and returned to his digging to try and find something else, some piece of trash or junk that he could see potential in. he had always been the one to see potential in things. In trash, in items, in nations...

 

But that was a long time ago. That was when he was a troll with a name and a place. Now to those very few locals around the trash heap and lower markets that knew him, he was known only as The Signless, some nameless mutant blood vagabond that probably escaped a labor camp as he was much to large and brawny to be one of the mutant bloods in the breeding creche. Just a no name who kept off the radar and who lived in some cave somewhere beyond where anyone cared to put the effort to look.

Nobody important and he was fine with that fact.

Signless sat back on his heels, squinting as he looked up at the moon that was starting to dip towards the horizon, its sister moon off to the side already laying her head to sleep. The sun would be up soon and it was never a good time to be out. The sun itself was hellish enough, bright enough to blind a troll not wearing the proper eye protection. It was time to stop for the night or risk being caught out in the daylight. The large mutant blood got to his feet with a grunt and brushed himself off some, stretching his back and hearing a satisfying crack. Honestly, it felt good to finally stand up after so long crouched and digging through the trash. Could put kinks in the back.... especially for a troll of his age although he looked not a day pass his mid-sweeps. 

He hefted the bag of foraged junk to his shoulder and shifted his stance before he began to move, taking off at run to jump to the next pile and slide down the other side of it, digging his heels in and balancing his wait as not to go tumbling head over heels into the filth. Once he reached the bottom, vaulting a beat up old car rusting at the bottom, he was off, weaving through the narrow forager trails made in the landfill from its residents and those like himself who came here to collect items for their own uses. He knew the trails by heart at this point, having walked them for as long as he cared to remember. 

Reaching the edge of the landfill where the moldering piles of garbage began to slide forward, slowly cascading over the edges of the warped mesh fencing that tried to encase the mess, Signless slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder. There was no one about, no one willing to risk arrest to jump the fence that more or less stood at the far fringes of the empire's claim. It was rathe ironic though to Signless. For all its might, for all the control the empire and empress pressed upon every troll, the boarder of the kingdom was a landfill mesh fence with wild woods beyond. Such a fragile little barrier between society and the wilds. With one last look about, the mutant blood heaved himself over the fence, dropping down on the other side, and ducked his head down to take off into the woods, stepping lightly on his toes and avoiding patches of dirt or the stray twig to keep the sound of his passage to a minimal. 

Out here the lusus were wild afterall, although remnants of the trash heap still were found from where it had spilled over. A few rusted cars covered in vines of the jungle, piles of blown about paper trash and cans now used as homes by the wild creatures who had reclaimed the items as their own. Honestly the mutant blood didn't pay the junk much mind but then, seeing a bright swat of color in the usual dark of the forest was rare. Signless came to an abrupt hault, eyes narrowed as he shifted the sack of junk over his shoulder, tilting his head some wondering if this was some sort of trap.

It was a beat up old delivery truck new lookin honestly, probably abandoned there recently near the junk heap to not seem out of place by some worker who had made some mistake. The back was open and the smell of decay was strong, shattered troll egg shells adorning the floor of it and half formed lumps of flesh that were going to be wrigglers of various colors moldering in the moonlight. Signless approached it cautiously, placing a hand on the bac door of the van to push it open some, wrinkling his nose even through the barrier of cloth. A swarm of disturbed flies buzzed up, going around in dizzying displaces. If Sighnless had to guess, the truck had been a delivery vehicle from the creche to the various camps and what not for lowbloods as all the eggs looked rust red, brown, and mutant red by a glance over. Nearly all were destroyed meaning someone didn't lash them in properly or there was some sort of accident and the truck ditched out here to cover up the lost finnacially. Better to get insurance on the truck being “stolen” then just carelessness causing a cash crop of eggs to be lost. Signless was about to turn in leave when he spotted one egg tucked in amoung the mess, craddled in one of the cartons with others on top that had worked to shield it so far from the elements. Carefully he pushed the rubbish away to pull the egg out carefully. It was so small and a bright cherry red color. The egg easily fit on one of his hands. 

He turned it over carefully, seeing no fractures or indications of there being harm to the little egg, but who knows how long it had been out here, unattended and cold? There was no telling if the developing wriggler was still alive. Signless knew he should just leave it and move on.

Knew he should, but some part of him, that little part he didn't like to admit was a bleeding heart like his own caretaker had been, begged him to take it back with him. There was no harm in it. An egg could be kept easily warm and if it didn't hatch, it didn't hatch but if the egg did hatch....

Signless sighed, brow furrowng before tucking the egg in the crook of his arm and turning away from the truck, picking his way back to the familiar path deeper into the wild lands until only a wall of undergrowth engulfed him and the dark stillness that came with a place so far from anything troll-made could create. By the time the sun began to rise, Signless was creeping up the embankments of a small hill, crouching down into the well hidden entrance of his lair, a cave in the side of the hill, easily defended and far from any inquiring eyes.

The home of an exile, a hermit, and a dead troll far out of sight and mind.

The home of a coward he would always silently add.

Signless stomped in and dropped the sack of junk next to a crude workbench covered with assorted tools that he used for his job of reclaiming. Taking old junk, putting it back together like new, then re-selling it to those looking for a bargain in the lower market. A simple job really but one that didn't come with too many questions and made enough to barely live on. He moved back to his bed now instead, placing the egg on the assortment of lusus furs there and sitting back on his heels to regard it, frowning.

Mutant eggs had to be kept warm being the hottest blood type. Being of the same hemocaste at least, his home was kept warm enough to keep him sated. He reached over to pull the furs about the egg, building a crude nest about it and then crossing his arms, brow furrowed. Thee was no telling if it would hatch.

Even now he wondered if it was a dud egg.

“And yet here we are,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from little use, spending most of his time out of the markets alone and away from all trolls and social interactions, “Me an old tired relic of long bygone golden age and you, some egg that was destined for some camp,” 

He let out a laugh and moved over to the fireplace against the far wall, digging through the ash to uncover a few still smoldering embers and coax them back to life, “I shouldn't get attached. You are probably dead already. I don't know you or what you will look like We share a blood type, nothing more,” He mused out loud, eyes on the fireplace as he worked to set more tinder to the slowly growing sparks of the fire, “But I took you in regardless so even if you are dead, you mean something to me and things that mean something should have names yes?”

He glanced over his shoulder to regard the small egg wrapped up in furs so only a bit of its shiny bright red shell could be seen, “I myself don't have a name but I guess if we must assign some sort of designation, you can call me the Signless. Or perhaps lusus would be more fitting for you little thing?” He chuckled and turned back to the fire, “I must be losing my mind or more lonely than I thought if I am talking to a most likely dead egg,”

He went silent for a while, balancing his elbows on his knees as he watched the fire start to come more and more to life, “Perhaps though raising an egg is like a fire. As long as there are embers...” he paused again and looked over at the egg once more, “Could I perhaps entice you to come to life more like a good fire....? Kankri?”

The name sort of slipped out. He shouldn't be naming something that could be dead. It would make it harder to get rid of the egg if it started to smell sour if it truly was a dead egg. Still, for now he was talking to it, wanting it to be alive. If will alone could grant wishes the egg would practically burst with life and the sounds of a squealing peep of a wriggler. The idea brought him great hope but a pessimistic resignation born of years of nothing but disappointment kept it tempered. 

“Kankri. Yes. I will call you Kankri. A fitting name you know. A troll of great renown in the empire once was named Kankri until he lost the right to the name. It needs some redeeming, a bit rusty but a good name still. I'm sure when you hatch....if you hatch, you can polish it up some,” he murmured, moving to pull the scarf down from his face and move to take off the soiled clothes of his foraging to hang up for another day's use. 

There was work to be done and the evening meal before rest to make. Survival had to come first even if he wanted to sit and stare at the egg, willing it to give him a sign of its survival. He moved to the mouth of the cave to carefully pull the concealment into place before turning to walk back inside, pausing again to look at the small cherry colored treasure, “You are not being born into an easy world though. There will be struggle. Lots of it. Death will always be at your back like an old friend by a few sweeps in. Perhaps you would rather stay in your shell, little Kankri?”

The egg could not respond but for a second his breath caught as he was sure he saw the faintest wiggle as if something inside squirmed to be free.

He smiled, letting his eyes slide to near slits and a soft purr rumble in his chest as he turned back to the fire and back towards the evening meal.

“Ah. Eager to come out. Take your time, but yes. I would like to see you to in time. My little one,” he says softly, unable to hold back the smile spreading across his face.

“My little Kankri...”


End file.
